Venom Addict: Ch. 02

I'm sorry it's been so so long since I updated. Unfortunately no smut in this short chapter, just laying down some foundations and letting you know I haven't forgotten my babiesssss!!

Thank you for your patience and support xx

*DREW*

At twelve minutes past four, an unseasonally warm breeze slips in through the open window, informing me that there is a man at my front door. He knocks, and before I can send a text asking Tony which of his clients has terrible timing, a message from Lucy comes through.

Lucy: Here

I hesitate, eyeing the sliver of shadow shifting across the doormat. My sister bought it for me when I paid off my mortgage for the house. She admittedly found it a little suspicious that I'd managed to cover it in full in less than two years. Thankfully, she knows very little about my job and even less about workplace injury compensation.

I'd rather plead guilty to insurance fraud than admit to my sister I jerk off and sell the goop to horny freaks.

The doormat is simple, brown and says welcome in cursive font on one side and nothing on the other. The cursive only sees the light of day when I know my sister is in town.

Another knock, and I'm annoyed, gripping the doorknob and twisting before I can collect myself enough to maybe not embrace unfamiliar addicts with open arms on my front doorstep.

"Oh, hey," Lucy says, startled. "Did you get my message?"

I blink once. Twice. Survey my front yard for intruders.

"Are you expecting somebody else?" She asks, tone clipped in that way I like. It's blunt and jarring, as if she's not the one begging to come see me twice a week. A very small bird fluffing up its feathers.

"Is someone with you?" I ask her.

She shifts uncomfortably, put off by my demeanor. "No. Relax. Nobody's with me."

I know I'm scaring her, but I can't seem to relax my body. The tendons in my forearms are pulled taut at the scent of some stranger on my property, lurking, maybe watching Lucy right now. Like some cave dweller, I have the urge to draw her near and hunch over her - put me between her and the rest of the world.

She's in her work clothes - all dull corporate miscellaneous. Grey slacks and a button up blouse that I want to rip into. I love it when she comes to me like this, like I'm a part of her world, some after-dinner-mint-thing she can swing by and pick up on her way home.

I'm about to excuse myself - my stupid, primate brain - to do a full parameter check, when I realise that the stranger is Lucy. She reeks like she's just rolled around in some guy's gym clothes.

My head is a mess. More specifically, the thing in my head is a mess. It's confused and irritated with the change, but I shrug and pretend I'd been distracted by a noise nearby. She doesn't seem entirely convinced.

I'm flowing through the motions of normalcy, reaching for my warm, just-prepared Venom, when it hits me like a wall. The knot of yarn loosens and untangles, and a heat swells up to the surface.

Lucy doesn't just smell like some random guy. She smells like some random guy fucked her. Recently.

What I do next is something I swore to myself I'd never do again.

*LUCY*

"I don't really see how that's any of your business," I sneer, glaring at the space beside Drew's head. He's left the lights on the last few times I've been around, a sign of trust, I gather. Rapport. He has a way of building comfort slowly, like a tide creeping up so that you don't even notice until it's swallowed the bay. Or, the wary part of me counters, like boiling a frog.

"It's exactly my business," he counters, voice level and assured.

I try to fight the flush that creeps up my neck when I realise he's probably right. And that I'm just being defensive because I'm horny and didn't get fucked right last night.

I'd never done it before - using Venom with another person. It's always been a solo venture for me, much like just about everything.

I mean, I'm not a prude. Or new to sex by any stretch of the mind. I've just always tried to keep my habit and my dating life separate, even when some of my... baser urges overlap. Actually, I try to keep my habit and my whole life separate as much as possible.

To my surprise, the guy didn't mind. He was happy to incorporate the Venom to increase the intensity of the sex, but he evidently wasn't prepared for said intensity. He finished in less than a minute.

Worse: when he fumbled his way off of the bed, he kicked over the vial containing what little Venom I had left.

I take a deep inhale and let the thick, mossy scent of Drew rinse through my abdomen. It swirls, warm and soothing, down to my belly.

"It's just..." I try to keep my tone distant, detached, "I've heard it's the other way around."

Drew clears his throat and reaches up to push a hand through his hair. "That's actually," he starts, "It's a common misconception. It can be risky using Venom with someone else." He scratches his neck, and it's the first time I've ever seen him waver. "You know, someone who isn't-"

"Right," I cut him off, face burning. "I got it."

I think about my date and the twist of pleasure-pain in his face before everything was over. The confusion and embarrassment. How everything felt so off in a way it never had before; a deep, primal dissatisfaction.

"If you're needing..." he begins, then rethinks, "there is something that can help."

My eyes stay fixed on a mole just right of his chin. Cleanly shaven. I wait for him to continue, ignoring the way his frame looms over me, all-consuming.

He presses his lips together and I realise that I'm staring at his mouth. I'm wondering if his skin - his saliva - tastes the way he smells. The way his Venom feels coursing through my veins.

"I offer more intimate services, too," his voice is so low that I almost have to close my eyes. My whole body feels like it's on fire. Or boiling from the inside out. It takes a long time for my brain to work through the information it's been provided.

The man I have been fantasizing about for weeks is now offering to fuck me and I'm... saying absolutely nothing.

"Text me if you're interested. Anyway, here's your order." Drew's words are back to being brusque and business-like, instead of... whatever they had been. What had they been?

Sex, babies, sex, my blood hums, Venom, Venom, Venom.

He's holding out a brown paper bag, the lowercase alpha symbol flashing against the pale skin of his inner wrist. Looking at his wrist leads to his forearm, where the muscles are bunched up and tense. I swallow a knot that has formed in my windpipe. Give him a brusque half nod. Then I spin on my heel and force myself to walk away.